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het spijt me :iconviking-american:Viking-American 0 3
Literature
And the Clock Ticked On
3:24:34
An Orderly finishes looping thread through flesh.
3:25:17
He goes about his business with a sigh and ties a futile knot.
3:26:27
Once he’s tied the catgut sutures and wrapped the paper crepe bandages, the Orderly moves onto the next man because the next man had a chance to keep breathing.
3:26:54
More orderlies take the bedding from the cot because there are men with a chance to keep warm and alive. A Nurse in a grey uniform that might have once been white almost leaves the sheet underneath his limp heaving body because a dead man should at least have a burial shroud. But she takes it anyway.
3:28:43
His face takes on the waxen quality that blood loss brings.
3:29:11
His temperature rises. Its been days since he was fished from a taken trench, but there are no anti-tetanus shots for a boy-prisoner with flak in his lungs so liquid fills them oh-so slowly. There is no healing from this. There is no point in propping up a man already lying in his grave.
3:33:47
Fever blooms
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Literature
And Here Is The End
If I am  a loaded gun,
You should just fire and run
but instead the guns in your mouth
and I’m praying things don’t go south
Because even at eighteen,
There is nothing.
If we were sane, we’d keep our distance
But instead we keep up this deathly dance
Blood was shed for these rights
But I’m keeping you in my rifle’s sites
Because even at eighteen
You don’t owe me anything.
I can’t bring you back from the dark
And blood soaked wood can’t hold a spark
So I tackle you to the earth
Because one of us has to remember your worth
Because even at eighteen,
I can’t do anything.
You say you are sick of this game.
My guns leveled but I can’t aim
I can’t put the bullet in your skull
So I drop the gun and we lose it all
Because even at eighteen
Life owes you everything.
So you come back covered in gas
And here you are wanting it too pass
On your knees begging for and end
And of all people, I’m the one the gods send
Because a
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Literature
Moons of Our Mothers
Alfred Jones is drunk.
Its 1945 and he's half done with the final defeat of his enemies. Roosevelt and 400,000 of his soldiers are dead, and more will be dead before morning. That guilt and responsibility he holds for every corpse he's behind him, dead in his name,as he forced his way through Africa, Europe and every goddamned isle in the pacific twists and burns in the writhing pit of snakes that his belly has turned into.
Now he's sprawled there on a hilltop in Bavaria almost finished with his fifth and final bottle of whiskey with the other four tossed around him like they too, are the bodies he's responsible for.
If he looks down, he can see a desolate family farm house destroyed by fire. There is the red hot glow of embers, three months old, still smoldering in their foundations. If he looks down, he will start thinking about it could have been one of his bombs that destroyed that home. He didn't know what that family had done. For all he knew, they might have been one of the Germ
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:iconviking-american:Viking-American 17 10
Literature
Dripping from Towers
With lowered eyes, but with head held high
A queen looks down at earth from her tower in the sky
She sees the youth she once loved and touch age
She sees her own past in both the poorhouse and the gilded cage
Born into a decayed city, raised in what was left of the wood
She slowly rose to power, cutting all the ties she could
Behind her was a proud father and a broken mother
Behind her was a vain sister and an innocent brother
But no matter how she loved them, they lay with the other remnants of before
When the earth was all she needed but not all she wanted when there was so much more
So she cut them off, left them below
And with them her friends and humanity, to sink so low
Now she lives in her tower, commanding the attention of all
She orders about armies, but has enough humility to prevent the pride before the fall
She stands a flawless queen, benevolent strong and wise
A secure, noble Deity in her peoples' eyes
She doesn't seem human on her iron throne of choice
But now, only this
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Mature content
Armed Angels :iconviking-american:Viking-American 4 3
Mature content
Hail Mary Full Of Grace :iconviking-american:Viking-American 4 12
Mature content
Through Bottle Blue Eyes :iconviking-american:Viking-American 5 3
Literature
The Finalizing Find
Part Seven: The Finalizing Find
I needed more mead than blood in my veins
To tell of the ice, and then my death
My mother face stood stony, tear tracks making stains
At the Fireheart's name, all of them held their breath
They gazed at me, fully alive and healthy
And looked into my solemn eyes
And believed I had betrothed myself to a Valkyrie
There could be no lies
I gave them the sacks that had burdened my steed
And the old bounty descended once again
With that, I left for home, without another need
But for a new life with my Valkyrie to begin
But just before I could saddle up and take my leave
My eldest sister presented my inheritance
It was mine by birth but hers by right, she needed it to believe
That something would survive of the old arrogance.
She hoisted it up and I slung it at my hip
I didn't really know I ever wanted to go home again
Especially when my Valkyrie owned a ship
And we could leave and find peace within
We were all broken people, raids and ice had taken their toll
B
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Literature
All Calm on Heaven's Front
Across Europe's fields and valleys, forests of crosses are now found
But still the moans of hate and horror still sound
The bayonet bearing angels sigh
In exasperation at those who still go to die
Their wives mothers and daughters still grieve
From heaven, and its a grief that God himself can't relieve
Can you imagine a squalid colorless world of death?
Populated with mean who care for nothing but live and breath?
Come back with me as they fix bayonets and prepare to go over the top
While a whole generations cries "Make it stop!"
They wince at the shells and pray "Oh Lord deliver us... oh lord.."
While the reserves are far away, just lives being stored
Rifles do little, against artillery, and nothing survives
Only the men in the positions of great power seem to thrive
They order the slaughter of men, but the dead can't testify against their crimes
But sworn by the names of the dead, the living cry for revenge in their times
What was before, The Age of Empires, falls
Against the rising
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:iconviking-american:Viking-American 0 0
Literature
The Explaining Exodus
Part Six: The Explaining Exodus
She told me her tale of sacrifice and prosperity
As I held her fast in what was now our longhouse
She told me of the generations of wars lost and won in the name of security
She asked for only two things before she would become my spouse
She wanted perfect equality and my Father's sword for her own
I agreed, swearing on my strength and loyalty until Valhalla comes
She returned my vow and promise, and our words were set in stone
But for now, we decided I would go back to where I came from
Finally she curled into me, taking her promised place
And we slept like the dead, sharing a dream for a violent life
In the morning, I woke to her kissing me everywhere on my face
And we prepared to part ways, me and my future wife
I kissed her goodbye and rode off for my mother and family
I came up the old trail home and my sisters' children stood in shock
I was different, in my brides skilled finery
But I looked different, as though from a different family's s
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Literature
The Telling Tale
We laid there on the rocks, her on top
But she only straddled my stomach and explored
I wanted more, but she made me stop
But she kept touching where all my need was stored
I pushed her off and plunged into the water
She reached for me but I needed to stop myself
I breathed deep and plunged, ignoring how much I fought her
The water shocked me from want to the fear I needed to shelf
I forced myself down, down, forcing courage
She swam to meet me, and took my hand
The exhilaration put the fear into storage
And suddenly I could breath as well as I could on land
She showed me the lake bottom, showed me it all
And swam with me, in tandem until we almost slept
We dragged each other to shore, catching each other before we could fall
And so the Virgin Valkyrie found a man that kept
We fell into the bed, naked and exhausted
But she held my attention, as she told her tale
A small girl orphaned with her wintry eyelashes frosted
And of the Gods that gave her strength and chain mail
They gave her i
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Literature
The Sounding Stones
We sat for a long time, watching the sun rise
We tried to speak, but the sunglow only hushed
The Fireheart didn't break her guise
And so not a movement was rushed
She was fire in the sunlight, a golden morning glory
I couldn't tell color her eyes in that light
Nor could I see the scars that would tell me her story
As a map of every sacrifice, betrayal and fight
But days passed into the rhythm of late winter
I worked and slept and grew to my old strength
She kept me busy in the forest hauling wood to splinter
But after that night, kept me at arms length
She wove me new clothes, fixed my boots
She cooked and hunted for us, but worked past sunset
Kept her hair in tight braids, against her head like earth and roots
She kept me at it, to free me from my life debt
Winter turned to spring, and yet she did not touch me
She kept me here, a prisoner of my own free will
But she took not a single liberty
It made me wonder, did she want me still
I owed her my body, at least, it was hers to take
One
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:iconviking-american:Viking-American 5 4
Literature
The Vanquishing Valkyrie
The Vanquishing Valkyrie
Nothing, nothing, fade to a breathless end
I would have preferred a death by an equals sword
But all soul who die fighting, die with Thor as a friend
All there was to do was wait the death the rest couldn't afford
Sunlight breaks the dark, white explodes past the black
Everything shaking, and then there's strength, pulling me out
I force my hands around another and pray the ice doesn't crack
Gods, this must be what the Epic's are about
I was dragged out, laying on ice, seizing in the cold
The Valkyries pounded on my chest, making me breath
White blurred to a fogged white, green and gold
And I vaguely wondered hard the rest would grieve
I don't remember much, just a horses flank and roaring flame
A woman's hands with a man's strength slowly pulled me back to earth
She spoke and sang and told me stories of betrayal and war and blame
Made me remember what life was worth
I came back slowly, strength creeping to life
And found myself in the land of the dead
The woma
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Literature
The Withstanding One
Part Two: The One Who Withstands
I had always been among the best in the villages
But I wasn't the fastest, the strongest, nor the smartest
That's a good thing, when the enemy pillages
And kills the best, leaving the rest darkness
Month after month, they raided and stole all we had
Our culture faded to mere survival, our strength to fear
The men grew wasted, the women sad
But still you, our lady, did not reappear
Months more passed and winter came with its white death
The babies died, the lucky ones while still in the womb
The old, our wisdom, died and no one noticed their last breath
The once rich vibrant tribes had turned into a tomb
What men were left, as they hunted, begged for mercy, begged for you
We were weaker and weaker, food never went far enough
I was out much farther than usual on the ice, and fell straight through
I remember I couldn't break the ice, it was much to tough
I beat at, it, panicked, wanting to live
I thrashed and hit and tried to break it
But the gods can take
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Literature
The Warring Woman
She flits among the trees, the forests daughter
The legends tell about a virgin who has lived for
1000 years and yet still no man has caught her
They whisper about her, of the FireHeart, on the icy shore
The sea tribes whisper her name as a prayer
The women leave offerings in the pines
The dying and wounded scream her name to the air
The children leave trinkets, anything that shines
She is nothing but a mortal woman, she eats and breathes
She takes everything left for her, but always leaves something
Her woven wild flowers are a virgins honor to wear as a bridal wreath
But still she lives for generations, a mortal queen to a godly king
She slips among us when the war drums pound
I have seen her sharpening warriors spears and her own sword
We have seen her lifting the dead from the bloody ground
And after the battle, she sings, lifting her voice to strike a chord
And strikes us she does, every man wants her, none can tame
She will have none of us, she only speaks to the women
She seems
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Favourites

Literature
Shrouds for a ship.
The ship, and nearly all her crew and passengers with her, were lost on the 22nd of May. On the 24th, Dorothy started making model boats.
Her fingers hurt a little, of course. Red, cold, and sometimes even damp, they caught on the makeshift sails and left unsightly blotches on the hulls. The hulls were one of the hardest bits. Hours were consumed by the whittling and painting and drying. The rigging was even worse; the threading she used was almost impossible to keep a tight grip upon, and the variations of beige and brown and black meant they often vanished entirely if dropped to the dirt floor. As for the masts, these took an enormous amount of time to shape and it was even worse to find them in good condition. Shorter than her forefinger, only an uncommon patience and a sort of determination (which felt out of place in her own body) kept Dorothy working at the masts so late into the night. The finished product, although, made the entire labour seem somewhat more worthwhile.
Peo
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:iconvienna-kangaroo:vienna-kangaroo 34 22
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Critiques


With a edgy, acrimonious feel, this piece deals with some unusual topics and with several odd twists, throws open the readers imaginati...


You wrote a lovely piece here, with wonderful use of visualization and dialogue. The characterization was wonderful, despite the lack o...

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:iconstopsigndrawer81:
stopsigndrawer81 Featured By Owner Jul 6, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fav on the 7.63mm Mauser C96 Broomhandle!
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:iconbubblemoth:
bubblemoth Featured By Owner Mar 22, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for joining :iconthewrittenrevolution:, we're delighted to have you with us. Welcome to the revolution. :salute:

We're quite a busy group. We regularly post prompts and publishing opportunities for our members to try. Don't forget to drop into the chat room as well!

And feel free to add us on Facebook and Twitter. :dummy:
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:icondraganthemighty:
DraganTheMighty Featured By Owner Jun 2, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Welcome to Simply-TALES!
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:iconbeeswingblue:
beeswingblue Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2013   Writer
Thank you. :heart:
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:iconviking-american:
Viking-American Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2013  Student Writer
No problem! It really reminded me of Remembrance poppies and World War One and such and it really hit home. Great job!
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:iconbeeswingblue:
beeswingblue Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2013   Writer
My husband said it reminded him of World War I, also. I'm embarrassed to say that that connection didn't even occur to me when I wrote it. Then again, my neighbor, Patrick, really did plant poppies.
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:iconviking-american:
Viking-American Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2013  Student Writer
Ah nothing wrong with that. If I hadn't been on a Downton Abbey trip, I might not have caught it, but I'm really glad I did. Funny how real life can by so symbolic!
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(1 Reply)
:iconjill92:
Jill92 Featured By Owner Mar 31, 2013
Thanks so much for the fave! :)
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:iconmoderndayalice:
ModernDayAlice Featured By Owner Dec 9, 2012
Thank you so much for the :+fav:!
:D :D :D
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